


The Outsider

by Sky_kiss



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Evelyn Parker deserved better, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Judy Alvarez and Male V: Simping for Evelyn Parker till they die, Mentions of Rape, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28083090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sky_kiss/pseuds/Sky_kiss
Summary: The worst part isn’t that her memories are fractured. The worst part is the knowledge that it’scoming back, all of it. Evelyn shivers, curling in on herself.  She aches all the way down to her bones. She should be dead.Shewantsto die.Alternate take on the Evelyn quest chain.
Relationships: Evelyn Parker/Judy Alvarez, Judy Alvarez & Male V, Male V/Evelyn Parker
Comments: 36
Kudos: 128





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have some issues with Cyberpunk's lack of player agency/lack of story branches, honestly. And like...I really just loved Evelyn's character, and wished they have done more with her.

Turns out Goro’s right: there’s no justice in Night City. Best you could hope for was revenge.

V knows that better than most people. His life is a textbook shitshow. He can live with that. He’s used to it. It’s only when life starts punching down, fucking with his friends, that he takes exception. 

Bug is dead. Jackie’s dead. Christ, _he’d_ been dead. Only held that everyone involved with the job would have their share of bad luck. 

Just happened that Evelyn got it worse than most.  
_____

Don’t make a scene. Keep a low profile. 

Good words; professional words. They play on a loop in his head, lost somewhere in the rush of blood. He's vaguely aware that it's Bug's voice he's hearing, like the ghost of Christmas past. Fuck keeping a low profile. Fuck stealth. He’s got Johnny snarling, encouraging all his most brutal instincts, and he’s got half a mind to listen to him. 

It’s not enough that Arasoka fries part of her brain. Naw, when Night City decides to fuck you over, it goes all the way. Evey’s raped before she’s sold to the Scav’s. Woodman and Fingers both smile as they tell their half of the story. Keep their voices low like this is some kind of boy’s club shit. V smiles too. They're too stupid to see the teeth and the halfway feral light in his eyes. 

Jackie would have been the one putting a hand on his shoulder. Keep it together, hermano. But Jackie’s dead. Only one left is Johnny. And no voice at all would be better than Johnny's prodding. 

He finally, finally, lets Woodman bleed to death. Fingers goes out with less dignity. He screams. He only stops screaming when V shoves the man’s severed fingers down his throat.  
_____

V’s never liked guns. Aside from his pistol, he’s not much good with them. Came from years spent as a Corpo rat, he supposes. Took a lot to smuggle an AR into a boardroom, but a knife? Nobody was looking for that shit. 

The Scav’s aren’t expecting it either. 

It’s textbook up until he sees her. The woman in front of him is a far cry from the femme fatale he’d had the pleasure of meeting. She looks small without her heels, her coat, her club. All her armor’s been stripped away. There’s only blood and bruises left. Somewhere along the line she’d curled in on herself, a last ditch attempt at self preservation. One of the fucker’s makes the mistake of laughing, digging the toe of his boot into her ribs. 

He doesn’t die pretty. None of them do. 

Evelyn doesn’t react when he touches her shoulder. She stares into space, sightless. He doubts she can _hear_ him either, but it’s habit. It feels necessary to talk. He brushes her bangs back, unsurprised to find her running a fever. 

"Gonna get you outta here, Miss Parker." She doesn't make a sound when he shifts her, struggling her into his jacket. V rocks back on his heels. The adrenaline is finally starting to fade. The high gives way to fear. She looks bad. Real bad. "Stay with me now, alright? Judy...Judy'll give me hell if you don't come home." 

V gathers her in his arms. She weighs so little. She feels so breakable. He hopes she's stronger than that.  
______

Judy goes pale when he finally shows up at her place. He offers only the barest details over the phone. Someone could tap the line. She's worried, justifiably, but she's been in the business long enough to keep her cool. She wants to cry, or rage, or _anything_ , when he pushes past her into the small one bedroom. 

She doesn't. Just goes quiet. Just touches her friend's forehead with a tenderness V barely recognizes. It's too pure for Night City. And they're all too dirty for it. 

"Who did it?" She's focusing on keeping her voice even. Judy doesn't look up, just keeps stroking Evelyn's hair. "V? I wanna know." 

He purses his lips, lingering near the door. Arms crossed over his chest, shut off. He's new. They're old...friends, flames. Didn't matter. He doesn't want to intrude. "Employer at Clouds, Fingers, Scavs...it's a long list, Judy. Won't bore you with it." 

She's beautiful, he thinks. Judy's got a goodness to her, still burning bright, and it's beautiful. She nods, lets out a hiss of breath. When she finally looks up, there's fire in her eyes. She takes in the blood, caked on his hands up to the forearm. "Any of them still alive?" 

"Not a one." And if there are any stragglers, he intends to rectify the situation. 

" _Good_." They're both silent for a long while. It's Judy that breaks it, exhausted, hurting. "Help me get her in the shower, huh?" 

When that's done, he slumps down outside the bathroom door to wait. He's tired, and bloodied, and suddenly cold. Judy never asks him to leave. She pushes a drink into his hands. Neither speak when they raise a glass in salute. 

Jackie woulda hated that shit.  
_____

“She needs a doc.” 

She looks better without the blood, but it’s a far cry from improvement. Evelyn remains cataonic, curled in on herself. For the first time since he’s brought her back, Judy moves from her side. The distance doesn’t affect her focus. She keeps staring, as if the brief lapse in concentration will steal her friend away. 

“Judy,” V tries again. “Hey. She ain’t gonna get better hanging around here.” 

Her jaw squares. Alvarez stands to the full extent of her meager height. “And the fuck good you think a ripperdoc’s gonna do her? Fingers…” The words don’t get all the way out. Judy licks the seam of her lips. She knows better. It’s sentiment warring against logic. He knows the toll that battle takes. 

“Fingers ain’t gonna touch her. Fucker ain’t touching _nobody_ again, and you know it.” He touches her shoulder. It’s a hell of a thing really: over the course of the last week, they’ve become something like friends. He chalks it up to shared trauma. “Somebody else we could use, though. Old friend of mine.”

Judy frowns. She opens her mouth to argue. He cuts her off. 

“Judy...she’s got a fever. What if something’s wrong with her kit? Or she caught something?” The tech scrubs at her wrist. V pushes on. “You can stay at my place.. There’d be people around. People to help, or watch her if we gotta step out.” 

He’s right. They both know he’s right. She scrubs at the back of her neck. She can’t watch her forever. “Your guy? He’s safe?” 

“Vic’s the best. Fronted me my mods when I was still in the red. He’ll take _care_ of her, Judy. Promise.” 

She nods, looking around them. Her shitty apartment with the nice view. “I’ll need space to work.” 

“We’ll retrofit the armory. Won’t be ideal but…” he shrugs. 

It’ll work.  
_______

Shit isn’t perfect. Nothing was ever gonna be perfect in Night City. It’s just...easier with them moving home. Judy’s tech takes up most of the armory. Evelyn takes the bed. On the rare nights when she’s not slumped in her desk chair, Judy joins her. V takes the couch. He doesn’t sleep much anyways. 

Vic doesn’t hide the pity in his voice well. They’re both stupid, both half in love with Parker. He sees it and shakes his head. “Look, kids, I’ll do my best but she’s…” he makes a vague gesture with his hand. He lingers on Evelyn for a moment, saddened. Vic was good like that. All the shit in the world and he was still such a feeling guy. He looks back at them. “Go on, get out of here. Gonna be hard enough without the two of you hovering.” 

“Vic, we…” 

He stands. Vic isn’t the tallest guy, but he’s still thick with muscle. He’s tall enough to make an impression. “Not up for debate. This isn’t your average checkup. It’s gonna take time. It’s gonna require focus.” 

Judy tenses up. She worries her lower lip between her teeth. Alvarez finally squeezes his elbow, voice softer. “You take good care of her, alright, doc?” Then, more gently, she adds. “ _Please_.” 

Misty goes so far as to hug them both. She’s good too (and it’s a hell of a thing, that all these _good_ people still exist in the world). She’s too empathetic, and her own loss is too raw. She doesn't want anyone else to hurt like her. V squeezes her shoulder. “Will bring you something back, alright? What are you feeling like?” 

She smiles. It never reaches her eyes. “Chinese is good.” 

He kisses her cheek. Misty has opted to wear one of Jackie's old sweaters. The dubious stain down the front suggests it'd been in the 'to wash' pile once upon a time. His scent still lingers. The sleeves are way too long, but she balls her hands in the excess fabric. She looks like his kid sister. 

Honestly, it ain't far from the truth. 

"Chinese. An hour. Promise." 

She nods. As if promises mean shit in their line of work.  
________

They eat in silence. Judy says she’s not a heavy drinker. He is. Nowadays, it’s hard not to want to welcome that numbness. He buys her first drink, setting it in front of her with a shrug. If nothing else, it’ll ease her nerves. She knocks it back without comment. 

V has less restraint. They know him well enough to set out a line of shots. Nothing fancy. Just enough to dull any pain or disappointment. 

It’s around drink three that he asks the question that’s been on his mind throughout the whole of this shitshow. V leans on the counter, makes a show of mulling everything over. Then, as off handedly as you please, he asks, “So when’d you fall in love with her?” 

Judy chokes on a bite of chow mein, sputtering inelegantly around a mouthful of noodles. The tech looks _caught_ t in a way he’d find hilarious if it wasn’t heartbreaking. “Wanna run that by me again?” 

“Naw, pretty sure you heard me.” He slides another shot across the counter. “C’mon, Judes. Didn’t peg you for the type to play coy.” 

The arched brow says more than a hundred words. How would he know? Wasn’t like they’d been in business long. Judy traces a finger around the rim of the shot glass. A hundred different conversations are going on around them; he still manages to hear her voice. It’s resigned, but not bitter. She raises the glass in salute. “Couple of years. Forever, maybe. Nosy little shit.” She finishes the drink, wincing at the taste. She gestures for him to slide her another. “You?”

He snorts, and the cheap alcohol burns. “Don’t believe in that love at first sight shit.” 

“So...second sight?”

It feels good to have someone to laugh about this with. Christ, it feels good to _laugh_. “Something like that, sure.” V shrugs. “Figure it’s hard not to. Kinda just…”

“...how she is, yeah. Evey’s like that.” It’s a bittersweet confession, chased with a self deprecating laugh and another shot. Judy leans back in her seat, glancing back towards the clinic. “Thanks, uh...for saving her.” 

“Woulda been impossible to do anything else.” He chews the inside of his cheek, desperate to get back to that earlier easiness. “She your usual type? 

She snickers. “Naw. Yours?” 

V ducks his head, smiling. “Prefer blondes.” 

“You _would_.”  
_____________

Vik manages to clean up her tech. He prescribed some antibiotics to deal with the infection. A whole mess of shit that doesn’t manage to touch the underlying problem. 

“If she’s gonna wake up, she’s gonna do it on her own terms.” Vik touches her wrist. V’s only seen that look on his face once: bad news, ‘a few weeks left on the face of the earth’ bad. The doc scrubs a hand over his face. “Your girl’s been through some shit, kids. _If_ she wakes up...watch her. Bring her back here. Might not be a shrink but...we can get her on something.” 

It’s the best case scenario. They nod together. Judy lingers by his side as he gathers their friend up. She smooths back her hair, smooths the wrinkles out of her borrowed clothes. 

The next few days are unremarkable. Judy works on scrubbing BD’s. If it gets intensive, she heads down to the office. V strays further afield. He hunts Scavs (butchers, that voice in his head supplies). There’s the occasional meeting with Garo. 

It’s another three days before Parker finally wakes up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn's had a really bad week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess this is gonna be more than two chapters. Wanted to try playing around in Evelyn's head.

The pain registers first. 

Fried neurons do their best to sort through the excess stimuli. It’s a jumble, as if her brain can’t decide whether or not it’s happening _to_ her, or if it should register as an out of body experience. Untethered, that’s the word, though it takes a comically long time to come to her. Everything is electricity, starting at the base of her skull and flooding outwards. 

After the pain comes panic. Adrenaline. There’s no direction, no words to accompany the sensation. Just a keen awareness that she’s been _hurt_. 

Her brain supplies blurry figures, neon, more neon, and concrete. Blood, still in the process of drying across her skin, flaky under the few nails she has left.

It's all so fucking disjointed. It's a horror show, some bad XBD; the only thing she can do is pull her legs to her chest. The worst part isn’t that her memories are fractured. The worst part is the knowledge that it’s coming back, all of it. Evelyn shivers, curling in on herself. She aches all the way down to her bones. 

_She should be dead._

_She wants to die._

They’re her first new thoughts. She tries to lift her arm, but the disconnect is still there. It’s the same as it was at Clouds and the Scav den. She’s here; she’s _present._ She’s _trapped._ The panic flares again, bleeding into a more pressing helplessness. There’s no potential for fight or flight, only the anticipation. 

She...remembers the fear. Not the events themselves, her mind is still in self preservation mode, and those memories remain blessedly buried. There’s only untethered fear. She expects hands on her, pushing, pawing. She knows to expect pain. 

The fingers carding through her hair are different. There’s the gentle scrape of nails over her scalp, sure, but there’s no threat. It’s a pleasant tingling. At some point, minutes or hours later, arms wind around her. They’re gentle too. Evelyn stares up at her rescuers with unblinking eyes. She knows them, these people. 

The man carries her into the washroom. He eases his arm out from beneath her knee, careful, as he gets her feet under her. He’s handsome, she thinks, the kind of guy she wouldn’t have minded visiting her at the dollhouse, or buying her a drink at the club. There’s a scar splitting his upper lip, almost artful, and she wonders how many lucky ladies have fancied they could kiss that old hurt away. 

V, her mind finally supplies. His name is V. Dex’s merc. One simple letter is tied to more complex sentiments, predominantly regret. He’d been her ticket out of the minor leagues.

And then the whole world had to go ass up. 

V finishes seating her in the stall. His brow furrows, and he stays like that, crouched in front of her. The stall was only ever designed for one. The end result is claustrophobic. He has to lean back on his heels to avoid pushing into her space. He lifts his hand. The sickly fear settles in her stomach again; he’s going to touch her. He’ll hurt her, like Woodman, like Fingers, like everyone else. 

He squeezes her shoulder. One squeeze, then the contact falls away. It’s different from the other touches, from the fingers that play with her hair. His skin is rougher, callused. He clears his throat, voice pitched lower. “You uh...you take the time you need coming back to us, sweetheart. But…” he sighs. “Do us all a favor and _come back._ You ever dealt with Alvarez when she’s frantic?” He makes another sound, scoffing, irritated, but it’s offset by the fondness of his smile. “Never known a recluse to be so bossy.” 

It’s a nice thought, one of the first to comfort her. V stands. “Come home, Parker.” 

They’re speaking in the other room. It fades into a comfortable drone, mixing into the ambient noise of every megabuilding, the hum of electricity and life. She dozes, more comfortable in the shower stall than in the bed. She’s tucked in the corner; no one can surprise her. No one will hurt her. 

Judy enters more quietly. 

After everything she’s been through, it’s a hell of a thing to say she feels _guilt_. Her friend looks _exhausted._ Dark bags rim her eyes; the already baggy clothes she favors are hanging off her now. Her hair is wild, a hint of stubble and grow out suggesting she’s been neglecting herself for at least a week. 

Judy wraps an arm around her, leaning her forward as she tests the heat of the water. She’s careful as she cleans the sweat from her skin and shampoos her hair. There’s tears in her friend’s eyes, easy enough to write off as the shower’s spray. 

She wants to comfort her. She wants to apologize for _everything._

But the disconnect is still there, and the words won’t come out.  
____

Judy wasn’t a people person. 

It’s easy to forget, considering her own proclivities. Evelyn enjoys night-life. The press of the crowd energizes her. She’s made an art of flattery and cham. Her friend would prefer to keep to herself in her little studio, perfecting her virtus. 

She writes her nervousness off as a byproduct of her social awkwardness. Judy is pacing when she comes downstairs, chewing her nails down to the quick. She’s seen the behavior often enough over the years; when she’s nervous, the tech can’t keep still. 

Evelyn is nearing a blind panic herself. The heist has gone sideways and Arasoka knows. They know everything. They’ll be coming after her as soon as they’re finished tying up the other loose ends, not to mention the shit with the Voodoo Boys. She reaches out, right hand curving behind Judy’s neck. Touch is her medium of choice. Touch and her voice; men and women _listened_ when she spoke. 

The tech startles back to herself, staring, still wide eyed. She feels the muscle under her hand slacken, wanting to fall into the embrace, only to tense immediately after. Judy knows all her tricks. She knows she should push back. The shivering breath says she won’t. Evelyn smiles, pressing her forehead to the other woman’s. “Hey, hey. It’ll be alright. I know what I’m doing.” 

“Ev,” she’s doing an enviable job keeping her voice even. The underlying tremble is barely perceptible. “This ain’t like the other slip ups. This is big shit. If Arasoka wants you gone…” 

“Then it’s better that I’m out. People will see me. Clouds is…” 

“A fuckin’ dollhouse, Ev. You know I don’t usually give a shit about it but…” she lets the sentence drift off. She’s never liked the club, or her...career choice. Judy’s fingers twitch, fighting the urge to reach out for her. “They won’t think twice about selling you out. Hide out at Lizzie’s. You got people you know, who _care_ , around you.” 

“I’m not dragging you into this.” 

In hindsight, she couldn’t have explained her certainty. Judy made sense. If Arasoka was going to find her, and they were, having her friends a room over woulda been far better than Woodman. She’d been...stubborn, stupid, frazzled. 

The truth is she’d been a b-rate player in an a-listers game. Moving up in the world always came with a certain degree of risk; everything on the table felt...sane. Failure hadn’t even occurred to her. V’d been so confident. The intel was _good_. It’d seemed like such a sure thing. 

She’s not sure who gets to her first: the Voodoo Boys or Arasoka. Both are well above a doll’s paygrade. 

She strokes Judy’s cheek, trying to smile. Even then, she’d been struggling to mean it. “I’ll be alright.” 

She isn’t.  
______

The dream leaves her nauseous. If she’d have just listened…

...nothing would have changed, would it? Her brain's been spiked for who knew how long. Maybe it would have kept her from Woodman and the Scavs. It’s all a maybe. Maybe the Voodoo Boys would have killed Judy, or the Moxes. Maybe this; maybe that. 

She shivers. The apartment is warmer than her cell in the basement, but she’s still cold. She wills her arms to work. It’s slow going, but the upgraded tech they’ve sprung for is finally starting to take. If she works at it, really works, she can curl her fingers. It’s infinitesimal progress but it’s _enough_. 

Death is simpler. She can’t shake that single thought, intoxicating. Death meant no more memories, no more pain. No more disappointment. Death is the solution to the sickening images behind her eyes. It’s a way _out_ , and she longs for that release. 

She’s always careful to stay very still, hiding her little improvements. If Judy knew she’d never let her out of her sight. She’d do everything to _help_. The idea of leaving her behind hurts but…

...what’s the alternative? She’s not a doll. She’ll never be an actress. She’s not a fixer; she’s not a leader. She’s another nothing in Night City, with a head full of broken dreams and bad memories. And the truth is: _she’s not sure she can live with that._

Judy is asleep behind her, back to back. Time has lost most of its meaning; she assumes it's late because of the absence of ambient noise. The door to the apartment beeps once before sliding open with a soft hum. She swallows, muscles tensing. Logic says it’s V, finally staggering home. Trauma says it’s the Scavs come to drag her back to their workshop. 

“You ever keep fuckin’ normal hours…” Judy grumbles, turning her face into the pillow. The thin mattress shifts, leaves Evelyn’s weight rolling back against her friend. “V short for vampire or some shit?”

He scoffs. There’s a heavier thud, like a coat hitting the floor. “Early bird gets the worm, Judes.” 

“Not in my line of work.” 

“Telling me I should start edging my kills?” Judy throws something. She’s a good enough shot to hit her target, and V grunts. She doesn’t have to see his face. He’s smiling. She can hear it. “Get back to your beauty sleep, princess. Didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“Fuck. Off.” 

There’s something banal in the interaction. The bathroom door slides shut. A moment later, she hears the rhythmic drone of the shower. Still half asleep, Judy grumbles and turns onto her opposite side. The tech curls around her, shorter, more delicate. Evelyn manages to relax into the contact. 

For the first night since Clouds, she doesn’t dream.  
____

Tech’s never been her strong suit. That’s Judy’s department. 

She can’t explain it all. Maybe she’s needed the time to heal and cycle through her trauma (doubtful, her head’s still fucked beyond all recognition). Maybe it’s just...grey matter stitching itself back together. Maybe few of the pathways in her head are finally reestablishing themselves. 

End of the day, the only thing that matters is that she _wakes up_. She’s able to do more than shiver and curl in on herself. That freedom, that _agency_ , leaves her near sobbing. Evelyn scrambles back on her hands, pressing herself into the corner of the sleeping cubby. 

V’s apartment is nicer than it has any right being. It’s bright, unlike Judy’s place, sparse in the way she associates with corpos and loners. She takes it all in with a survivor’s eye: one entry, one exit. No balcony. Two steps down into the sitting area. Gun on the coffee table. Shells beside the pistol. 

She rushes for the weapon. 

In the heat of the moment, she’s not sure exactly what she intends. Defense? To blow her brains out? It’s a base, animal, reaction. Get, hold, keep, _survive_. 

Her legs are weak. She’s bruised, and the laceration on her thigh screams as she lurches into action. Evelyn catches the second step at an angle. Her ankle rolls, threatening to give way entirely, before the muscles finally stabilize. None of it matters. The gun is in reach; she throws herself across the final few inches. The tabletop digs into her ribs. She doesn’t care. The weight feels good in her hands.

She could end this. One shot’s all it takes. 

It’s only the memory of the past few days that stops her. Fragments of banal conversations; the memory of Judy curled up behind her. V’d cut his way through a good portion of the city to find her. 

She can’t...bring herself to end it. Not just yet. Evelyn sinks back to the floor, exhausted. The adrenaline fades. She’s left feeling numb. The only bright spot is the weight of the pistol against her thigh. 

They find her curled up on the living room, knees pulled under her chin. She’s cold. The floor is cold, but she doesn’t have the energy to drag herself back to bed. V’s the one to approach her, hands held out in front of him. Every movement is slow, fighting not to startle her. A part of her, wild, independent, resourceful, everything she _was_ , hates it. She’s not porcelain, even if she feels like she might shatter. 

“V,” Judy says. “The gun.” 

“I see it.” He edges around the table, seating himself an arm’s length away on the step. “I’d uh...ask for that back but,” his brow pinches, craning his neck to get a better look at the gun. “Think that’s Judy’s. Which case, you’re on your own with her.” She smiles despite herself. “Serious talk, Ev. You gonna be smart with that?” 

He wants to know if she’s going to blow her head off. Her throat feels raw from disuse, but she manages a simple: “Yes.” 

They smile at her. They both look so _hopeful_. 

Evelyn’s too tired for it. She closes her eyes, pulls her limbs closer to her core. “Cold,” she mumbles. One word is enough. Someone is wrapping her in blankets a moment later. She thinks it’s Judy. Her friend’s arms are a vice around her, daring the world to come between them again.  
____ 

Her dreams don’t improve. She’s still afraid. She’s still hurting. The only change is she’s healing physically. Judy doesn’t try and take the gun from her, but she knows her friend well enough to understand she’s being watched. There’s pain in the tech’s eyes. Anger, too. 

She’ll deal with it at some point. All she can focus on right now is improving. The bed feels claustrophobic. If she sleeps she'll dream. Her dreams are uniformly horrifying. Walking a lap around the apartment leaves her winded, but she _does it_. She manages; she _improves_. Evelyn makes it to the closet, steals a set of V’s clothes, and struggles her way into the bathroom. 

The first time she manages to shower on her own is a victory. The water is too hot, but it’s _her_ choice. She comes away from the experience lightheaded. Her skin is red. Evelyn lingers in front of her reflection, mouth pinched. She’s a mottled patchwork of bruises and new scars. Her face is still alright. Swollen, sure, and her cheekbone might be busted. It’s not permanent. She hides the bruises under layers of fabric, holds her head high. 

Fuck it, she’ll live.


End file.
